烏克蘭大饑荒：斯大林的罪行至今仍在回響

Stalin’s War on Ukraine

By Anne Applebaum

461 pp. Doubleday. $35. 《紅色饑荒：斯大林對烏克蘭的戰(zhàn)爭》

(RED FAMINE: Stalin’s War on Ukraine)

作者：安妮·阿普爾鮑姆(Anne Applebaum)

461頁。雙日出版社(Doubleday)，35美元。

The Washington Post columnist Anne Applebaum has long lived in and written about Eastern Europe and is best known for her Pulitzer Prize-winning “Gulag: A History.” But my favorite of her books is the quirky and original 1994 “Between East and West: Across the Borderlands of Europe,” in which she travels from the Baltic to the Black Sea, entirely through regions and cities that had found themselves situated, over the course of the 20th century, in several different countries. Today’s Lviv, for example, in western Ukraine, was previously Lvov in the Soviet Union, and before that Lwow in interwar Poland, and prior to 1914 was Lemberg in Austria-Hungary. And that’s not even counting its occupation by czarist Russia in World War I, Nazi Germany in World War II and a short-lived Ukrainian nationalist group in 1918.

《華盛頓郵報》(The Washington Post)的專欄作家安妮·阿普爾鮑姆長期以來一直住在東歐，撰寫關(guān)于那里的文章，她最著名的作品是獲得普利策獎的《古拉格：一部歷史》(Gulag: A History)。但在她的書中，我最喜歡的是1994年出版的怪異而新穎的《東西之間：跨越歐洲邊界》(Between East and West: Across the Borderlands of Europe)，她從波羅的海旅行至黑海，她所經(jīng)過的地區(qū)和城市在20世紀(jì)里曾先后屬于七個不同的國家。例如，今天的烏克蘭西部城市利沃夫(Lviv)曾是蘇聯(lián)的Lvov;之前在兩次大戰(zhàn)之間曾是波蘭的Lwow;1914年之前，它是奧匈帝國的Lemberg。這還不包括它曾在一戰(zhàn)期間被沙皇俄國占領(lǐng)，在二戰(zhàn)期間被納粹德國占領(lǐng)，1918年被一個短命的烏克蘭民族主義組織占領(lǐng)。

Most of the people she spoke to on that journey shared a sense of ethnic identity under threat by a nation in which they were now absorbed, or had been oppressed by in the past. They felt themselves to be unfairly Lithuanianized Poles, or Belarusified Lithuanians or Ruthenians denied a country when everyone else seemed to be getting their own. The book was prescient, for it is exactly that sense of aggrieved, wounded ethnic or national pride that has been cultivated so skillfully by politicians who have emerged in recent years, from Viktor Orban in Budapest to Vladimir Putin in Moscow to Donald Trump in Washington.

在那次旅行中，她所采訪的大多數(shù)人都有一種民族身份受到威脅的感覺，威脅這種民族身份的正是他們現(xiàn)在所屬的、過去壓迫他們的這個國家。他們覺得自己不公平地變成了立陶宛化的波蘭人，或者是白俄羅斯化了的立陶宛人或魯塞尼亞人——魯塞尼亞人沒有自己的國家，而其他人似乎都有自己的國家。這本書很有先見之明，因為近幾年崛起的政治人士所精心培養(yǎng)的，正是這種怨憤的、受傷的民族或國家自豪感，從布達(dá)佩斯的維克托·歐爾班(Viktor Orban)、莫斯科的弗拉基米爾·普京(Vladimir Putin)，到華盛頓的唐納德·特朗普。

The specter of clashing nationalisms also runs through Applebaum’s new book, “Red Famine: Stalin’s War on Ukraine,” a richly detailed history of the great famine, peaking in 1933, which killed an estimated five million or more Soviets, more than 3.9 million of them Ukrainian. Stalin, beginning several years earlier, had ruthlessly forced millions of independent small farmers into the new collective farms that he was certain would increase production and feed Soviet cities. The farmers understandably resisted giving up their land, often slaughtered and ate the animals they were ordered to bring with them, and had little incentive to work once they were taken, sometimes at gunpoint, to the collectives.

這種沖突的民族主義的幽靈也貫穿著阿普爾鮑姆的新書《紅色饑荒：斯大林對烏克蘭的戰(zhàn)爭》，該書詳細(xì)講述了于1933年達(dá)到頂峰的大饑荒，據(jù)估計，它導(dǎo)致500多萬蘇聯(lián)人和390多萬烏克蘭人死亡。斯大林在之前的幾年里無情地強(qiáng)迫數(shù)百萬獨立的小農(nóng)戶進(jìn)入新的集體農(nóng)場，他確信這樣會提高生產(chǎn)力、養(yǎng)活蘇聯(lián)的城市。那些農(nóng)民當(dāng)然拒絕放棄自己的土地，經(jīng)常屠殺和吃掉被要求跟他們一起帶走的家畜。他們被帶去集體農(nóng)場后——有時是被拿槍指著去的——幾乎毫無勞動積極性。

This is certainly part of the story, but Applebaum puts more emphasis on something that has great relevance for today: Russia’s prolonged fear of losing a territory it had long treated as a lucrative colony. Even Alexander II, the reformer czar who freed the serfs, outlawed Ukrainian books and magazines and forbade the use of the language in theaters and opera. Schoolchildren generally had to be educated in Russian even when, despite the many ethnic Russians in Ukrainian cities, in the countryside most people spoke Ukrainian.

這當(dāng)然是故事的一部分，但阿普爾鮑姆更多地是強(qiáng)調(diào)與今天關(guān)系重大的一點：俄羅斯一直擔(dān)心失去那塊被它長期以來視為有利可圖的殖民地的領(lǐng)土。甚至連解放農(nóng)奴的前沙皇亞歷山大二世(Alexander II)也將烏克蘭語書籍和雜志列為禁書，禁止在劇院和歌劇中使用這種語言。當(dāng)時，盡管烏克蘭的城市里有很多俄羅斯族人，但農(nóng)村地區(qū)的大部分人講烏克蘭語;然而，學(xué)校里的兒童總體上必須接受俄語教育。

In the chaos of dissolving empires toward the end of World War I, Ukraine declared itself independent, but its famously fertile black earth and Black Sea ports were tempting prizes for rival independence movements, for both White Russians and Bolsheviks, and for the territory’s neighbors. After several extremely bloody years of fighting (Kiev changed hands more than a dozen times in 1919), Ukraine was divided between two newborn states: Poland and — taking the lion’s share — the Soviet Union.

一戰(zhàn)快結(jié)束時，在各個帝國紛紛崩潰的混亂中，烏克蘭宣布獨立，但它著名的肥沃黑土和黑海港口成為相互對抗的獨立運(yùn)動的誘人戰(zhàn)利品，遭到白俄羅斯人、布爾什維克以及其它鄰國的爭奪。經(jīng)過數(shù)年十分血腥的爭奪之后(1919年，基輔十多次易手)，烏克蘭被兩個新生國家瓜分：波蘭和蘇聯(lián)，后者搶占了大部分領(lǐng)土。

Even before the disastrous imposition of collective farming, Russia’s new rulers “once again followed the precedent set by the czars,” Applebaum writes; “they banned Ukrainian newspapers, stopped the use of Ukrainian in schools and shut down Ukrainian theaters.” By the mid-1920s, once Soviet power had been firmly established, the regime tried a new policy, as it did in other non-Russian parts of the Soviet Union, giving official status to the Ukrainian language and allowing the production of a definitive Ukrainian-Russian dictionary.

阿普爾鮑姆寫道，甚至在實施災(zāi)難性的集體農(nóng)業(yè)生產(chǎn)之前，俄羅斯的新統(tǒng)治者“再次遵循沙皇設(shè)定的先例”，“他們查封了烏克蘭語報紙，禁止在學(xué)校使用烏克蘭語，關(guān)閉了烏克蘭語劇院”。20世紀(jì)20年代中期，蘇聯(lián)政權(quán)穩(wěn)固確立后，開始嘗試一項新政策，像在蘇聯(lián)的其他非俄羅斯地區(qū)一樣，將烏克蘭語列為官方語言，允許出版選定的烏克蘭語—俄羅斯語詞典。

But rather than making the Ukrainians into happy Soviets, this period of limited tolerance only produced more demands for Ukrainian-language schools for the nearly eight million ethnic Ukrainians living in Russia itself, and for Ukrainian border expansions to include some of those ethnic communities. An alarmed Kremlin quickly reversed course.

然而，這個實施有限寬容政策的時期并沒有讓烏克蘭人成為幸福的蘇聯(lián)人，只是令近800萬居住在俄羅斯的烏克蘭人需要更多烏克蘭語學(xué)校;烏克蘭人還要求進(jìn)一步擴(kuò)展邊界，吞并一些民族社區(qū)。克里姆林宮感到警惕，因此迅速逆轉(zhuǎn)了政策。

The end of the 1920s saw a crackdown on the Ukrainian branch of the Orthodox Church and arrests of tens of thousands of Ukrainian teachers and intellectuals — 45 of whom were the subject of a show trial at the Kharkiv Opera House. Thousands of Ukrainian books were removed from schools and libraries. The dictionary project was now judged subversive, and many of those who worked on it were arrested and shot. Ukrainian-language newspapers and magazines were given lists of words not to be used, and replacements closer to Russian. One letter was even removed from Ukrainian Cyrillic, to make it more like the Russian, as if the very alphabet were guilty of treason and had to be punished.

1920年代末期，東正教的烏克蘭教派遭到鎮(zhèn)壓，上萬名烏克蘭教師和知識分子遭到逮捕，其中45人在哈爾科夫歌劇院接受了一場作秀式的審判。在學(xué)校和圖書館中，數(shù)以千計的烏克蘭語書籍被清理出去。那個字典項目如今被判定為顛覆行動，很多項目工作人員遭到逮捕和槍殺。一些烏克蘭詞語被規(guī)定不得在報刊上使用，必須以更近似俄語的詞匯代替。官方甚至從烏克蘭語的西里爾字母表中刪掉了一個字母，讓它看上去更像俄文，仿佛字母表也犯了叛國罪，不得不受到懲罰。

Then came the senseless scheme of compelling some of the Soviet Union’s most productive farmers to abandon their land and move to the untried new collectives. Not only was this imposing an ideological blueprint that didn’t work; it was carried out with a cruelty that guaranteed millions of people in the ethnically Ukrainian rural areas would starve. Peasant families were allowed to keep no food for themselves: Teams of Communist Party activists ripped up floorboards and poked through haylofts with iron rods, confiscating all they found, including grain being kept as seed for the next year’s crop. Despite the rotting, emaciated corpses of starved adults and children piling up along streets and highways and the wolves that took over abandoned farmhouses, the seizures continued, in part to find grain the state could sell abroad for hard currency. When even loyal party officials raised objections, they were fired, jailed or shot. If resistance to the requisitions and to collectivization was not stamped out, Stalin wrote to Lazar Kaganovich, one of his henchmen, in 1932, “we may lose Ukraine.”

然后則是一個毫無意義的計劃，迫使蘇聯(lián)若干最高產(chǎn)的農(nóng)民放棄土地，搬到未經(jīng)開發(fā)的新集體農(nóng)莊。這不僅是一個失敗的意識形態(tài)規(guī)劃，其執(zhí)行過程也極為殘酷，令數(shù)以百萬計的烏克蘭農(nóng)民忍饑挨餓。農(nóng)民家中不允許私藏食物：共產(chǎn)黨積極分子小隊到他們家中搜查，敲碎地板，用鐵棒戳穿草堆，發(fā)現(xiàn)任何東西一律沒收，連下一年的莊稼種子也不放過。無數(shù)男女老少因饑餓而死，一具具瘦骨如柴的腐爛尸體在路邊堆積如山，野狼侵占了廢棄的農(nóng)舍。然而，搜查行動還在繼續(xù)，搜出來的糧食有一部分被出口海外換取硬通貨。就連忠誠的黨員也開始表示反對，之后就遭到解職、監(jiān)禁或槍殺的命運(yùn)。斯大林在1932年寫信給親信拉扎爾·卡岡諾維奇(Lazar Kaganovich)的信上寫道，如果對強(qiáng)征和集體化的抵制情緒不加以鎮(zhèn)壓，“我們就有可能失去烏克蘭。”

The planned starvation, the execution of the territory’s best artists and intellectuals, the destruction of churches and the crushing of traditional village culture terrified into silence any Ukrainians who wanted autonomy or independence. Then finally, 60 years later, what Stalin had feared happened virtually overnight, and Russia did lose Ukraine. The history of all that happened between these two tragically intertwined peoples in the early 20th century fills in the background to Putin’s ruthless desire to gain influence or control over Ukraine once again.

有計劃的饑荒，處死該國最優(yōu)秀的藝術(shù)家與知識分子，對教會的破壞，以及對該國傳統(tǒng)村莊文化的摧毀，這一切嚇住了所有希望自治與獨立的烏克蘭人，令他們只能緘口不語。最終，60年過去了，斯大林所擔(dān)心的事情幾乎在一夜之間發(fā)生，俄羅斯真的失去了烏克蘭。如今，普京決心恢復(fù)俄羅斯對烏克蘭的影響或控制力，20世紀(jì)之初兩國人民交織在一起的這段悲慘歷史為他提供了背景。

Applebaum has painstakingly mined a vast array of sources, many of which were not available when the historian Robert Conquest wrote his pioneering history of the famine, “The Harvest of Sorrow,” 30 years ago: oral histories of survivors; national and local archives in Ukraine, including those of the secret police; and archives in Russia, which opened in the 1990s and then partly closed again, but not before various scholars published collections of documents from them.

阿普爾鮑姆辛勤挖掘了大量資料來源，包括饑荒幸存者的口述史;烏克蘭的國家與地方檔案(包括秘密警察檔案);以及俄羅斯于1990年代公開的檔案——其后部分檔案又遭到封存，但是許多學(xué)者事先已經(jīng)把其中不少文件公之于眾。歷史學(xué)家羅伯特·考奎斯特(Robert Conquest)曾在30年前著有《悲傷的豐收》(The Hearvest of Sorrow)一書，堪稱研究這段歷史的開創(chuàng)性著作，阿普爾鮑姆收集的許多資料都是他當(dāng)年無法得到的。

One account of the famine comes from the young Welsh journalist Gareth Jones, who walked 40 miles through starvation-ridden districts in 1933 and, after he left the country, wrote one of the very few eyewitness descriptions of the carnage to appear in the Western press. Jones has been celebrated before, but Applebaum also tells the less known story of how, after he spoke out, Stalin’s government successfully strong-armed British and American correspondents in Moscow into denying what he said — even though some of them had been his sources, telling him what would have been censored from their own dispatches. It is a reminder of the lengths that demagogues will go to in order to suppress or distort the truth — something no less a problem in many a country today than it was in the Soviet Union more than eight decades ago.

其中一段描述來自年輕的威爾士記者加雷斯·瓊斯(Gareth Jones)。1933年，他在遭受饑荒的地區(qū)徒步走了40英里，離開這個國家后，他為這場浩劫寫下了一份對于西方媒體來說非常罕見的親歷實錄。瓊斯曾為此受到贊揚(yáng)，但是關(guān)于他，阿普爾鮑姆還講述了另一個鮮為人知的故事：瓊斯說出自己的經(jīng)歷之后，斯大林政府成功采取強(qiáng)硬手段，令英美駐莫斯科記者出言否認(rèn)他所說的一切——盡管這些記者當(dāng)中有些人還是瓊斯的消息來源，把如果由他們自己報道就會遭到審查的信息透露給他。這個故事提醒人們，政客為了封鎖或扭曲真相可以做出多么過分的行徑：如今在很多國家，這個問題的嚴(yán)重性絲毫不亞于80年前的蘇聯(lián)。